


Big Enough For Both of Us.

by Rezdis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crime Scenes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Jealousy, M/M, Morning Sex, POV First Person, Sexual Frustration, Sharing a Bed, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rezdis/pseuds/Rezdis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out of town solving a crime John and Sherlock have to share a bed. You know the rest...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I slept in worst places

Despite my need to seek action – or my death wish, some might say – I was nevertheless really looking forward to a small break after our showdown with Moriarty.

I wanted to spend a whole day in my pajamas. I wanted to watch crap telly and eat junk food. I wanted to spend time with Sara. Sherlock, however, had other plans for me.

I was just about to have a lay down after lunch when the door burst open.

"Get your coat on!” he said. “We have a new case."

I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh.

"You have got to be kidding."

"Why would I be kidding? This is my job," Sherlock said, appearing not to notice my frustration. 

"Sherlock, I just got kidnapped twice in the last two cases. I really don't want to run about London getting shot at and kidnapped and whatever else the bad guys can come up with,” I pleaded.

"This case isn't in London – it's in Sussex." he interjected smugly.

"That's not the point and you know it."

"The point is," Sherlock said loudly, "I need a partner and you're the best man for the job."

I knew he was trying to guilt me into going with him; however, I also knew Sherlock would have a hard time adjusting to working without me, being a creature of habit and all.

"Why me?" I asked, crossly. "There are a hundred other doctors in England who are just as educated and experienced as me."

“There are a hundred other doctors here who educated on the fine art of deduction? I think not," he said, scoffing at me.

"All I want to do is take a holiday and relax. Is that too much to ask?"

Holmes began to raise his voice. 

"When we are needed for a case, yes! And besides, the house we are investigating is on the beach, so it sort of is like a holiday."

"Fine,” I said. "But I want to take Sara with us."

"Absolutely not!"

"But I haven't had a real date with her since…"

Sherlock angrily raised his hand to his face.

"She will just slow us down!" he interjected.

I was tired. I had just eaten a big meal and had been kidnapped twice in the last month. All I wanted at that moment was a nap. 

Well, a nap and maybe a shag – but mainly the nap. 

I yawned and looked at Sherlock. His eyes seemed to gleam with anticipation. He loved the adventure as much as I did – following trails of clues, waiting for a killer to slip up just once, mangled bodies – all of it. 

As much as I wanted to I couldn't say no. So, yet again, the chase was on.

We took a cab into Sussex. During the drive Sherlock filled me in on the details of the case. 

The beach house we were visiting belonged to a career woman in her late 30s. She was found dead on the floor of the home two days ago. 

They had found insecticides in her system. The odd bit was that she had not called pest control any time in the recent past.

Sherlock had looked into her personal life. She had no close family, but had a group of friends – and also, a group of people who stood something to gain from her death. 

The Sussex Police couldn't make heads or tails of the situation, so they called for back up and somehow ended up with Sherlock on the case.

I was only half listening, however. I was too preoccupied with my own shortcomings. It had been before the war since a real relationship. I have had casual friends, only coworkers. I couldn't even remember the last time I had been with a woman. 

As much as I tried, I seemed to be getting no more intimate with Sara than a goodnight kiss. 

I enjoyed my work greatly, but I was beginning to feel as if it left no room for a social life. 

Sherlock was fine; he was married to the job and had no need for a life beyond it. Things were much more difficult for me.

We arrived at the Sussex shore late in the afternoon. It was grey and cold, as usual. Even the tide was grey – and a bit angry looking. 

The house the murder had taken place in was large and white, with blue shutters. It was a little damaged from the constant barrage of salt-filled sea breezes.

The police were waiting for us with gloves and surgical masks, ready for us to have a look. 

Sherlock refused both, being that his death wish is a little stronger than mine. 

Inside the home, everything looked to be in its right place. No signs of a break-in or foul play.   
Sherlock determined the insecticide did not come from the vents, nor from the fire place. 

Forensic readings showed there were no traces of it left in the house, which caused Sherlock to laugh at my precautionary measure of donning a surgical mask. 

Nowhere in the house were any signs of any poisons at all. As much as we looked, there were no clues.

Finally, Sherlock decided to call it a night and spend tomorrow looking at the body.

After everything was put away for the night, Sherlock inquired as where we might find lodging for the night. There wasn't much in this area, but there was a small inn nearby we were advised to try. 

The inn was a bit on the dumpy side, but we wouldn't be spending much time there. We asked for a room at the front desk. 

The innkeeper told us it was late and there were a lot of people staying there because of the murder case, but there was one room left. 

We then followed her to the spare room. The door was open for us and we looked inside. The room was very dank and had but two pieces of furniture in it – a bed and a dresser.

"Oh, we're not a couple," I said to the innkeeper.

"Well, then one of you will have to sleep on the floor,” she said, as she handed us the key and walked away.

"I guess this is good enough," I said to Sherlock as we walked in.

We had left in a hurry and hadn't really packed anything will us for the night. I went into the bathroom to wash the dirt from the investigation off me.

Sherlock just slipped off his clothes and crawled into bed in his underwear. I walked in and took the second pillow off the bed, pulled off the top cover and started to make a bed for myself on the floor.

"You're not really going to sleep on that floor, are you?" Sherlock called from the bed.

"I slept in worst places in the Army."

"That floor is freezing and who know what kind of dirt has been left there from the last people."

"What do you want me to do then?" I said.

Sherlock rolled over all the way to one side and motioned to the other one.

"This bed is big enough for both of us. You can have the other side."

"Fine," I said picking my stuff off the floor.

I rearranged the bed and, a bit reluctantly, took off my outer wear and slid into bed with Sherlock. I tried to stay as far on my side as possible. I really just wanted to sleep and get this over with.

I heard Sherlock sigh a couple times and knew he wanted me to ask him what was wrong. 

I didn't want to. There were many things I would rather to at the moment then have an emotional chat with my roommate while in bed with him. 

I sighed a bit myself and, finally, without rolling over, asked "What's the matter?”

"That woman," he started. "She spent her whole life working, then was murdered all alone. I bet her friends don't even really miss her."

I didn't know what to say to that. Sherlock seemed to be getting at the same thing I was pondering earlier – that this work took too much time away from other parts of our lives. 

Things like this did take a toll on him after all.

"That was the life she chose for herself," I said.

“I'm sure that was the life she settled for. Not chose. She was hardly doing anything groundbreaking in her career.”

“Normal people can be happy with normal careers, Sherlock,” I injected. 

Sherlock then made a sound of disgust from his side of the bed.

“Listen, you're not going to end up like her,” I said as sympathetic as possible at that late of an hour.

“I never said I was worried that I was going to,” he tried to argue.

“Yeah, I know you didn't say it,” I sighed, just as I'd found a good sleeping position.

There wasn't another word said that night. We just laid in the dark, thinking about our fates.


	2. Then I felt our lips  meet

I stretched as I woke up and smiled for a second when I felt a body next to mine. 

I let out a groan when I realized it was just Sherlock. 

Then I remembered where we were and what we had to do that day. 

I yawned and carefully got out of bed, as to not wake Sherlock. 

I put yesterday's clothes back on and shuffled to the lobby in hopes of finding some fresh tea or coffee.

I found a coffee dispenser and a stack of newspapers. I put a paper under my arm, filled up two cups of coffee and shuffled back to our room. I struggled a bit to open the door without slipping on myself and stumbled back in.

Sherlock had woken up since I had left and was laying there smiling at me. His hair was messy, his eyes still sleepy.

"Oh John, you thought of me,” he said, gesturing to the second cup in my hands.

"Well, I assumed you would want to get ready and leave to finish the case as soon as possible."

"Oh, nonsense. It's still early. We have time," he said, waving his hand to dismiss the notion.

I was shocked to hear Sherlock say he didn't want to do his job. Maybe he really was rattled by the idea of dying alone like that woman.

"Its 6:30 in the morning, John. The morgue does not open for another few hours. Come back to bed and we can read the paper."

This wasn't like Sherlock at all, what with the worrying about his death and not wanting to get an early start on his work. What had gotten into him? 

But, I undressed again and got back into bed. I handed him his coffee and shuffled though the paper a bit, then looked over at him.

"Does this feel a bit gay to you?" I joked.

He looked over at me and smiled.

"John, shut up" He laughed, "Just hand me a section."

I'm not sure what was weirder about that morning: the fact while in a dumpy inn, in a bed with another man, I felt very content, or the fact that Sherlock for the first time seemed content.

When we finally put our clothes back on and got to the morgue it was late morning. The body was brought out for us and we went to work, but found no evidence of the killer. 

There was no sign of struggle or rape, only large amounts of the chemicals in her lungs. Other than that, there was not one thing wrong with the body.  
"Maybe we should interview some of her friends and enemies to see if they can help," I said.

"No, no, no,” Sherlock said in deep concentration. “I want to know where such a large amount of insecticides came from."

"Where is the nearest pest control business located?" he called to the morgue workers.

We were directed to the local exterminator, only a few blocks away. It was hardly more than a cement hut with a few trucks parked out back. 

As we poked around, we noticed how unsafe the place was, with poisons sitting in the back of trucks where anyone could get to them.

"Well, it's no wonder someone got murdered with all these chemicals lying about,” I pointed out, shocked at how hazardous this whole scene looked.

"This was on her way home from work wasn't it?" Sherlock said, not listening.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The woman," he said. "The woman worked just down the road. She'd have to pass this place on her way home from work."

"I suppose so."

"Quickly, we have to time how long it takes to get from here back to her house," he shouted, as he was running back to our car, which was borrowed from an unfortunate morgue worker.

We figured it was about a seven minute drive from pest control to her house.

"Even if it was an accident, she would have had time to make a 911 call," Sherlock said, almost as if a light bulb went off for him. 

This confused me a bit. Looking a little blankly at Sherlock I said, "Of course it wasn't an accident. It was a murder."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, it wasn't."

"What?" I said, still just as confused.

"Get me the car. I need to look at her car!" 

Small amounts of the poison were found in the car. Smudges of dirt from the insecticide tanks were also found in the car. The woman had inhaled the insecticide herself and driven home.

She had killed herself. The case was solved that afternoon.

"I can't believe I was called down here for a suicide." Sherlock said, wiping off his hands.

"Well, at least we solved it early. Do you want me to call for a cab to take us back to the city now?" I asked.

"No, I want to go back to our room," he replied.

"That inn. That dumpy inn? You want to go back there?"

"I really don't think either of us needs a long car ride right now." he said.

I went reluctantly back to our room with Sherlock and as soon as we got in, he sat on the end of the bed and started undressing himself down to his underwear.

"John," he said, "come back to bed with me."

I finally understood. I knew what had gotten in to Sherlock this morning. This case had made him realize what he had been missing. 

And he now wanted to fulfill that, with me.

My first thought was what would happen if I refused him. A permanent fog of awkwardness between us, a rift in our work – not to mention me having to look for a new place to live.

Then I looked at his eyes. They were begging me. I can't remember if anyone had ever looked at me, begging me to come to bed with them. If someone had, it was long ago. 

Before I knew what I was doing, I was stripping down to my underwear and joining him in bed. We laid there for a while, face to face, just looking at each other. I still wasn't sure what this was.

Did he just want the comfort of having someone next to him? Was he actually expecting sex? 

Sherlock had never showed any interest in sex in the past, but that of course didn't mean he was incapable of feeling desire.

My stomach tightened into a knot, terrified of what would happen next.

He finally reached out and touched my arm. I moved a little bit closer to him and he grabbed me in a full body hug. He put his face on my shoulder. I relaxed in his embrace, feeling like this was long overdue.

"You're not going to end up like that woman. Too many people need you," I whispered.

“I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered back. 

"I feel the same way." I agreed, sincerely. 

He pulled away for a second to look at me then closed his eyes and tilted his head. Then I felt our lips   
meet. 

A saner me would have stopped him there. They would have told him that they just were just a coworker and pointed out that they already had Sara.

But sanity can sod off right now.

I don't know why I did it really, but I deepened the kiss and pushed forward to put him in a more submissive position. He moaned a small noise into my mouth. 

Now I know I had never made anyone moan just by kissing them before. I suddenly loved this power. 

I then rolled over on top of him, flattening him on his back. I began kissing him roughly, with much passion. 

This was way farther than an overdue hug between best friends. 

However he was just as into it as I was. And I – well, I was pretty into it at this point. Our tongues touched occasionally. After a few minutes I stopped for breath. 

I looked down at him, his hair was a mess, his face flushed.

"John, I never pinned you to be such a violent lover." Sherlock huffed between rough breaths.

Suddenly, I was embarrassed by the way I ravished him so.

"I… I had a lot of built up sexual frustration,” was the excuse I gave; however I knew it took more than just frustration to pounce on your coworker and friend.

Sherlock smiled a devious smile.

"I can see that," he grimed.

"Well, um… It's been a while," I stammered, still trying to defined myself. 

"Would you like to go further?" 

I was not sure what 'going further' would entail, but I was sure it would be something out of my comfort range.

However my sudden burst of enthusiasm left me with a dull throbbing in my groin, and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to receive any other offers to cure it in the near future. 

I sighed hard, not sure what I was getting myself into.

"I would like that," I said, trying not to show my nervousness.

"Okay, then shall we carry on?" he asked. 

“Umm... Sherlock? Do you know what you're doing? I mean, have you done this before?” 

At this, he lifted his finger up to his mouth and licked the tip of it. Then he brought it to my chest and slowly slid it down to my pelvis. 

I wasn't sure if that was a “yes,” but this made me curious to what other kinky surprises Sherlock may have had in store for me. 

I bent forward and began to suck on his neck. It was thicker and slightly more muscular then a woman’s. 

And the thought occurred to me all those gay guys who told me to 'try it' because it was no different than a woman were not detail-oriented people.

Over my college flashbacks, I could hear the sound of Sherlock enjoying my foreplay. I decided to use my teeth a little. 

I started to feel something hard press against my lower stomach area. Even though I was kind of put off, a part of me loved hearing that normally condescending man bend to my every touch.

I nibbled at his jaw line, then began to kiss his mouth again. He placed his hand suggestively on my hip. I knew where his hand was going next, and after a moment, it did. 

His fingers were longer and his palms rougher than what I was used to. I didn't care. I just squirmed as the dull throbbing turned into a full blown erection. 

I reached over and started caressing Sherlock's body, which he let me do a few times before he shook me off. 

"Okay, now get on your back,” he said, very matter-of-factly.

"What?"

“It's what happens next. Come on, John,” he motioned a bit impatiently.

"Oh," was all I could seem to say to this.

Next he sat up and curled he finger around the waistband of my underwear, then pulled them down. He looked at it for a second like he was trying to deduce something from it. 

“Sherlock, I'm not a piece of evidence” I protested.

He gave a slight chuckle then dipped low and lightly kissed the head of my cock. I took a sharp breath. 

A second later, he put his mouth around me and began licking the sensitive tip of my cock.

This was the same as I remembered. Yes, this was it. Everything else melted away, it was just me and the pleasure. 

My eyes were closed and my mind flashed to different sexual images. My body tensed up, my toes curled and I was panting hard before I knew it. 

I could feel Sherlock drawing out different shapes with his tongue, as if practicing geometry – which, he probably was. 

My groin tightened as waves of pleasure ran through my body. I knew it was only a matter of time before I would cum. 

A twisted face and a loud groan was my only warning as I unloaded my sexual frustrations into Sherlock's mouth. I twitched and gasped as I spent. When it was all over, I fell limp on the bed.

The next thing I felt was Sherlock cuddling up beside me. 

His stiffness pressed against me as a reminder he was next. He kissed my neck thoughtfully. I wasn't looking forward to what I was about to do. Being chocked, the fleshy taste, the dew, all the waste.

I crawled down to the bottom of the bed and let Sherlock lay down. I pulled off his underwear and just went for it. 

I bobbed and sucked on it. I felt a little ashamed of myself, sitting in that dirty rented room, sucking cock.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was moaning and making faces on the bed. 

He grabbed at the covers, with his knuckles very white. I wanted it to be over as soon as possible, so I went faster and harder. Sherlock writhed on the bed. Just before he came, he called out my name. 

“John... God,” he huffed.

I liked that a lot. It almost made what happened right after it worth it. I swallowed the milky mess the best I could without gagging. 

I wiped my mouth off and crawled back up next to Sherlock. He laid there and smiled at me. I smiled back suddenly, realizing that for the first time since we had met, we were equals.


	3. Even In His Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went to sleep that night feeling bloated and confused.
> 
> I awoke the next morning to Sherlock throwing some of my clothing on my bed.
> 
> "Get dressed. We have work to do," he said.
> 
> "What do we have to do?" I asked, half-awake and stretching.

The cab ride home was mostly quiet. It gave me more time to think then I wanted. Was this just a one time thing, which we would never speak of again? I somehow doubted that. 

Our loneliness went deeper than that. We couldn't function on our own. We both needed someone.

Sherlock broke the silence long enough to ask if I wanted to go out to dinner to celebrate. I assumed he meant celebrating solving the case. 

I told him it sounded fine and hoped we didn't go back to that place where the owner thought we were a couple. 

Then again, I couldn't help wondering if Sherlock thought we were a couple. What would I tell Sara?

“Oh yeah. by the way, I'm having an affair with my roommate. Too bad you didn't sleep with me first,” – which, really, is all it came down to in the end. 

No matter how nice Sara was to me and how much of a jerk Sherlock could be, in the end, all that mattered was who put out. I felt terrible about this. When we got back to London, I wanted the least healthy, most comforting food in town – and probably a beer. 

That night, I ate my feelings in a diner while Sherlock talked about murder. When we came home, I went straight into my room and shut the door. I wanted to avoid any awkward talks Sherlock might want to have. 

I went to sleep that night feeling bloated and confused.

I awoke the next morning to Sherlock throwing some of my clothing on my bed.

"Get dressed. We have work to do," he said.

"What do we have to do?" I asked, half-awake and stretching.

"An engineer for our military is missing. They think he may have been kidnapped."

"Where did he work for?" I asked

"British Marine Aircraft Limited.”

"Okay," I said. “One of our enemies took him so he could build a plane for them. Case solved."

"If it was that simple, I wouldn't have been called." Sherlock replied smugly.

"Why," I asked, dressing in front of Sherlock, pretending it was nothing. "Why can't it be that simple?"

"Because he didn't design the planes. He tested weaponized lasers,” he said, impatiently.

"Okay, our enemies want lasers. Case solved."

Sherlock made a sound of frustration.  
"No, he didn't design the lasers! He just tested them."

"Okay, okay it's not that simple. How do we know it had something to do with his job?"

Sherlock rushed me out the door and into a cab. I was sick of cabs – I'd been in one all day yesterday.

"We don't know if he was kidnapped because of his job,” Sherlock explained, “But we know he was kidnapped at his job. He didn't walk out any doors that day."

We only drove a short way before we came to the British Marine Aircraft building. There were already all kinds of law enforcement personnel outside when we arrived. 

Security footage showed the man entering the building, but not exiting it. They had reviewed the tapes and searched the building many times over, but found no signs of the man or the kidnapper.

"We have this whole place shut down for today, but tomorrow, we will have to start work again," said the company's CEO.

"If this is a work-related kidnapping, I don't think it is safe to let workers back in here until the kidnapper is put away," interjected Sherlock.

"We don't have the time or the budget for shutting this place down until we find some bad guy," replied the CEO.

Sherlock just walked off into the building. He began looking for all of the routes into and out of the building. 

On the other hand, I spent the day wandering around hopelessly, looking for look clues as Sherlock climbed though air ducts.

"The air ducts seem to be a possibility, but if there was a kidnapper, he probably walk through the front door," said Sherlock, as he climbed down from a vent.

"Sherlock, this is a military contractor's facility. You'd need an ID to get in," I pointed out.

"Maybe the kidnapper stole an ID, or maybe one of the workers was the kidnapper. We can't rule these things out yet."

"Then how did they get out with him? This whole thing sounds far-fetched to me."

"I don't know. I think we should come back tomorrow and see what this place looks like when it's up and running."

I sighed, thinking the whole thing thing was ridiculous.

"Okay, I'll see if I can get some sort of pass so we can be let back in tomorrow," I said, looking around to see who I might talk to about that.

After I managed to work something out with the staff, we found a cab to take us home.  
I trudged up the steps to our home, feeling extremely tired. I headed to my room and was about to shut the door, when I heard his voice from behind.

"We need each other. Remember that."

"Sherlock, it's late and I'm too tired to have any more touching moments. Or to suck you off again."

He just stood there for a second, looking heartbroken. 

When he finally formed words, he said, "Don't tell me that didn't mean anything to you, John."

God, I knew this talk was coming. Why did it have to be this late at night?

I had to choose my words carefully. This was a delicate matter and a lot hung in the balance. I took a deep breath.

"Back when I lived in that apartment, my life was rubbish. I sat around every day, bored, wishing for something to happen. When I met you, things began happening again. Yes, you give my life meaning. 

“Is that what you wanted to hear?" I pleaded.

"I do not care how my work changed your life!” he said, as he began to raise his voice. "I wanted to hear about how you needed me back there!"

"Quiet," I said, nervously. "The whole building will hear you."

"I don't care if all of Baker Street hears me. I want to know how you felt!"

"I care about you a lot and we are really close," I said. I hoped he couldn't tell I was talking out of my ass. “And that afternoon, it made me care about you even more. It made us closer."

"Then how come you've been so avoiding me?"

"I don't know how to deal with things like this," I said honestly.

"Well, you don't deal with this by shutting yourself in your room every night," he shot back.

“Look who's talking, Mister 'I'm married to my work and never talk about myself personally.' I didn't even know you liked men until you tried to get me in bed with you.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't explicitly clear with you. Is that what you needed?” he said, condescendingly 

“Well, I'm not a mind reader Sherlock. You have to tell me something every now and again.”

“Fine. In that case, I really think ... that I would like you to come to bed with me.” 

I followed him into his bedroom, dropped my clothes on his floor, got into his bed and turned out the lights.

Sherlock didn't say a word. He laid beside me and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly. I could tell he was very emotional, even in his silence. 

I laid there thinking how must have been for him to be feeling instead of thinking. 

I tried to just fall asleep, but I ended up getting emotional as well. Here was one of the greatest men I'd ever met, and I was treating him like some chick I'd met in a bar. 

I had a feeling I really needed to change my attitude.


	4. "No, they are all dead."

Sherlock and I slept in the next morning. In the next room I vaguely heard Sherlock's mobile ring, but it didn't seem to concern him, so I didn't move. 

Normally he had his phone by him at all times, so this was odd. Late in the morning, he began to stretch and crawled out of bed. I followed shortly after.

"I'm having tea and toast. Do you want some too? "Sherlock called from our kitchen.

"Yes, of course," I yelled while getting the paper.

We ate and chatted. We smiled at each other a lot. After we cleaned up, Sherlock checked his messages. He slowly began to get a confused look on his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked

"There has been an accident early this morning at British Marine Aircraft." 

"What kind of accident?" I said thinking it must have not really been an 'accident.'

"There was some kind of power surge and everyone who touched the machines has been electrocuted." 

"Are they okay?" I asked, stupidly.

"No, they are all dead."

"So I'm guessing this was done by the same guy who kidnapped our first guy."

"We can't know until we check it out. Come on get ready," Sherlock said, dashing off to get dressed.

We were quiet as we rode in the cab back up to British Marine Aircraft, though during the ride I absentmindedly rested my hand between us. Sherlock rested his next to mine and placed his pinky finger on top of mine. I looked over at him and when our eyes met, he turned a little pink in the face. I thought this was rather cute, but didn't react as not to draw the attention of the driver.

Upon arriving we were met by emergency vehicles and news cameras. Unfazed by the chaos, Sherlock found the CEO again. He told us everyone who turned on machines this morning had been killed on the spot. That, of course, led to Sherlock demanding to look at these machines. 

And of course, that led to him taking the backs off of things and pulling them apart. I apologized to the staff for the mess he was making while talking to himself – or maybe to me – about the wires. 

After about an hour, he had taken every machine in the building apart. He discovered all of them had been rewired almost perfectly in order to electrocute anyone using it, and that this had all been done in one night.

"Why would someone want to kill an entire company?" I asked.

"They are not trying to kill the entire company. They are trying to give a warning," he replied. "I think this CEO knows more than he is telling us."

"You mean he knows who did this?"

"I think he knows why this was done," he said, turning to walk out of the room. "Come on, we're going to look at the bodies."

So once again, we were in the morgue. As usual, Sherlock was studying the bodies intently. I was waiting for Sherlock to ask my opinion. Molly was standing timidly in the corner, staring at Sherlock. 

There were a half dozen fried bodies laid out in front of me, and all I could think about was what was going on inside Molly's head. 

She was probably fantasizing about doing all sorts of sexually humiliating things to him, like most women do after being rejected by a guy they like. I think she was picturing having some form of angry sex where all the while she tells him he's a jerk. Maybe she was thinking even darker things. 

Anyway, I was staring at Molly, pondering what was going on her mind. She was staring at Sherlock, pondering I can only guess what, and Sherlock was looking over every part of a dead body, probably knowing what both of us were thinking, and not caring. That was what I liked about him.

Then, once again, we were heading up to British Marine Aircraft. Sherlock was in a horrific mood. He had not found one clue on any on the electrocuted bodies, and he was being very pissy about it.

“One missing guy and a bunch of dead bodies, and no leads yet.”

"Well brooding's not going to help," I said, glancing over at him.

"I'm not brooding. I just reviewing the facts."

"You're reviewing the facts in a brooding manner and it's not better for anyone!" I said, raising my voice.

Now the cabbie was becoming a little nervous.

"The manner in which I'm reviewing the facts does not change the fact I am trying to solve this case and you're standing around staring at the morgue worker!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll start offering my opinion when you don't want it so you can tell me to shut up!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You know, I hate it when people are sarcastic with me," he said, in a kind of pouting way.

I couldn't keep bickering with him. It wasn't worth it. 

I turned and started looking out the window. After a moment I mumbled something under my breath.

"Stupid twat."

Even though my head was turned, I could feel Sherlock's fiery stare on me. I immediately regretted saying that outside my head.

"What did you call me?"

A little terrified, I slowly looked over at him. He couldn't quite seem to get the words out. He finally came out with an answer.

"Well I… of all the names I have been called,” he said, completely deadpan. "No one has ever called me stupid."

"I didn't mean it literally," I said, trying to explain.

"There are many insults that might have been accurate, but stupid is not one of them – figuratively or otherwise."

"You are so conceited. Do you know that?" I asked, frustrated.

Sherlock smirked at this.

"Yes, and you like that about me because I have confidence and you don't. You're sad and gutless and you need someone like me to push you to fulfill your potential."

"I don't need you anymore than you need me," I yelled. "You would just be alone with your thoughts all day, and no one would pick up after you or go to the store."

Sherlock yelled at the cabbie to stop. As the car came to a halt, Sherlock threw some cash at the driver and stormed out, slamming the door.

"Sorry," I said to the cabbie, as I rushed out to chase Sherlock. 

Instead of going in the building, he turned and went around the side. I followed.

"Listen," he said in a loud whisper. “I need to keep up my professional reputation, and you starting fights like that is not good for it."

"Well you sulking in the car isn't good for it either," I loudly whispered back. 

"And staring at the morgue worker isn't good for yours," he said, bitterly.

"Is what this all of this was over? You think I like her?" I asked.

"Well you do, don't you?"

"No! That girl's a complete mess."

Sherlock paused to think for a second, then started laughing.

"She is a mess isn't she?" he said though his laughter.

I smiled, and Sherlock smiled back. He looked both ways to check if anyone was looking. 

When he saw there wasn't, he slid his hand behind my head and pulled me forward. Our lips met. The kiss was light, but meaningful. 

It was very sweet, like an apology without words. I knew that was what he meant by it, anyway. 

He pulled away, but as he put his forehead on mine, he let out a small, happy laugh of relief. I smiled back up at him as and our eyes lingered on each others for a few seconds.

"Okay," he said, turning away. He started walking, determined.

"We still have possible clues to find," he said.

I quickly followed, a little confused by the sudden change back into his old no-nonsense self.


	5. But have you ever been in love?

I was still a little shaken up from the spat and the kiss, but Sherlock had much more pressing things on his mind. Apparently, he decided didn't do a good enough job taking the equipment apart that morning. To the great dismay of the workers, he began pull the machines apart even more. 

"Sherlock, millions of the government's money have gone into this equipment, and you're just throwing it about," I said, shocked that no one was stopping him.

"There is something hidden in here. I know it."

"Come on now, you're just obsessing," I said, rolling my eyes.

But did he listen to me? Did he ever listen to anybody? No, he kept on distorting things. 

Then, all of a sudden, he froze in his place. 

He was standing in front of one of the machines that shook the lasers during testing to see if it would break. First, he sniffed the inside if it. Then he stuck a hand in it and pulled a bit of slime from the inside. 

He tasted it and made a disgusted face. 

"I just found our kidnap victim,” he announced, looking over his shoulder. 

Some nutter had taken that poor laser tester and stuck him in the freezing chamber used to test the laser's ability to handle cold weather. After the guy was frozen to death, he was put into a laser shaker, where he broke into bits and then melted.

I have seen many things in my time as a medical doctor, but this was one of the most disgusting.

Sherlock was too busy being pleased with himself for finding the victim to be grossed out. He was the only one in the building who was pleased to find this.

Reports were filled out. The machines were cleaned out and put back together. Within no time at all, they had the place ready to begin work again. 

But Sherlock warned them against it. The killer wasn't finished yet. Even I knew that, but none of the higher-ups cared. We went home with eight dead bodies on our hands and no clues on who did it.

"That CEO knows more than he is saying," Sherlock suddenly blurted out as we were walking in the door.

"How do you know it's not just a disgruntled employee?" I asked.

"The manner in which the murders were done indicates the murders were some type of warning, but the murderer left no message of what he was warning them of. Which means someone must already know."

"Are you going to try to get him to talk?" I asked.

"Of course. Don't start questioning my skills," He said with a kind of a smirk.

"I wasn't questioning anything," I said, smiling back a little.

"Well," he said, "we should go to bed early. We'll probably have another murder in the morning." 

I stood there awkwardly for a second, wondering if he wanted me to go to my bed or his bed early. He walked into his room and started undressing.

"You can sleep in here if you want," he called out.

I walked in to join him, just as he was pulling off the last of his clothing. I had never really looked him while completely naked before. He was very thin – and very pale.

"What, do you need a written invitation?" he asked, condescendingly.

I walked to the corner of his bed and began pulling off my clothing. Sherlock was eyeing me while he pretended to be messing with the pillows. When I was finally stark naked, I got in bed. 

I laid there, face to face with Sherlock. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I was very attached to this man, I thought, as I saw Sherlock stare back at me with a look of almost child-like excitement. 

I wonder why he looked delighted over the fact I had just gotten in bed with him. Was he expecting me to do something? Then a thought occurred to me.

"Sherlock," I stated matter of factly. "Have you ever been in love before?"

He took a second to recall.

"Well, I was very fond of a boy in school once."

"But have you ever been in love?" I repeated.

"Well, I've seen people in love. I know what it looks like but, I'm not quite sure I've ever felt it."

"It's like when a person smiles and it makes you want to smile or laugh when they laugh, and that person seems to have a glow around them," I said, trying to put a complex emotion into words the best I could.

Sherlock's face went into its thinking expression again before he again started giving me that doe-eyed look. Sherlock made no attempt to verbalize any thoughts he might have just entertained, but I think I understood. 

"Goodnight," I said as I kissed him.

He looked like he wanted to blurt something out, but only offered two words in return.

"Goodnight John." 

After saying goodnight, Sherlock wrapped his arms around my waist and was asleep within minutes. I laid there for a long time in the dark. 

Why? This was the first time in a long time my life was going well. Why was I just lying there, awake? 

I felt like I was forgetting something. I couldn't quite put my finger on what, but there was something I was overlooking. In the end, I just focused on the fact I was lying face to face with an amazing man who was pulling me close, and I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke a few hours later. As the sun was coming up, Sherlock was nestled close to me, and I was rather hard.

After what seemed like forever, Sherlock began stirring in his sleep. His motions against my erected organ was very frustrating.

"Good morning, John," he said, smiling about my current situation.

"Morning, Sherlock," I answered with a bit of agony in my voice.

He pull me tightly against him and kissed me. My hand traveled to his thick hair. Soon enough, we were passionately kissing each others necks.

When we broke apart, Sherlock sat up and pulled the covers off of me. He ran his fingers down my body, making it ache. Finally, he rested his hand between my legs. That feeling of his hand resting slightly on my erection made my body tingle.

I began to shake with anticipation. 

He left it there for some time. My breathing became very rough and jagged. I began to wonder why he wasn't going any further. 

I looked at him to see what was wrong. He was looking at me very intently, as if gears seemed to be turning in his head. 

"I don't really think now is the time to be studying me," I managed to choke out.

"Yes, of course," he said, jerking back to reality.

He started petting it. I laid back again let out a small sound, too quiet to be called a moan. 

Soon, I was squirming on top of the bed. He played with my engorged manhood for some time. 

I looked at him again, but this time, he wasn't studying me. He was sitting there with kind of an evil smirk on his face. He enjoyed teasing me.

Now, I was used to people toying with me emotionally – sending me mixed signals and such. But never had I been with someone who seemed to enjoy toying with me sexually. I didn't know how to react.

Normally, you see, when I slept with women, they just wanted me to give them what they wanted and get it over with. 

Sherlock crawled down to the foot of the bed. He put his head between my legs, then bent forward and tenderly kissed the underside of my cock. He left his face there, and after a second, he gave it a longer, more passionate kiss along its length.

I stretched out and closed my eyes. After a few more kisses, Sherlock lifted his head.

“Do you want me to use my mouth again, or do you want to try having sex?” he asked, very matter of factly. 

For a second, I pictured me and Sherlock having sex. I decided it wasn't something I was ready for.

“Just use your mouth,” I replied. 

He nodded, wrapped his hand around my member and gave it a few strokes, and slid it into his mouth. He jerked the bottom of my cock with hand while sucking the head. Then, after a minute, he balanced himself on his knees and moved his free hand to his own cock. 

He started stroking himself to match the strokes he was giving me. Soon enough, stifled whines and moans began escaping Sherlock. 

I laid there, grasping at the sheets for a while, totally consumed in pleasure. I forgot about the world around us. It was just me and Sherlock. My body couldn't take it much longer and started tensing up.

With an intense jolt, my throbbing manhood unleashed its milky love juice into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock swallowed without a second thought. 

Then, he sat up. He was breathing heavily and jerking himself very hard. 

I closed my eyes again and tried to catch my breath. 

“Hold still for a second, John,” I heard him pant. 

An instant later, I felt a hot, thick liquid splatter my stomach and chest. After a second I was splattered with more. I didn't have to open my eyes to know what it was. The milky ropes came one forth from Sherlock's member one after another, until they finally stopped. 

I just laid there, not moving and not wanting to look at it.

“I will get a towel,” Sherlock said, climbing off the bed. He returned a few seconds latter and cleaned up the mess he'd made out of me.

Then my mobile rang.

I sat up, realizing how light headed I was from my orgasm. I slowly made my way over to the table and picked up my phone. 

"Hello?"

"Hi John. It's me," a cheery voice said.

Shit. Sara was what I forgetting. I got up and left the room, to avoid Sherlock listening to every word. 

"Oh, hi Sara," I replied trying to sound happy to hear from her.

"Sorry to be calling so early, but I was working all night and I've been dying to get a hold of you. Why haven't you been calling?"

"It's been crazy at work," I said. "One case right after another."

You could hear in my voice a wobbly, dream-like tone, that surely exposed what I had just been doing.

"Have you been seeing someone else?" she asked.

"No, I haven't had time to see new people. I've been working non-stop,” I said, lowering my voice so Sherlock couldn't hear.

"John, you don't have to lie to me." She stated, apparently not one bit convinced. 

"No, really. It's just been me and Sherlock. I'm not lying."

"Well, okay," she said, still with a hint of skepticism in her voice. "If you still want to see me after you get some free time, you can call."

The truth was, I did kind of miss her, but sneaking off with her under Sherlock's nose would be very difficult indeed. 

"I promise, as soon as things calm down, I will call you," I said.

"I'll let you get on with your morning then," she replied.

"First thing I will do when I get a second is call you."

A little laugh came over the phone.

"Bye, John." she said.

"Bye, Sara."

And I hung up.

"So that was Sara?" I heard Sherlock's voice say, as he appeared in the doorway.

How much had he heard? Probably all of it, I feared

"Yeah, just told her I'm very busy," I said, a little nervously. I tossed my mobile on the bed and walked into the bathroom.

"Well, you best get dressed soon. We have more investigating to do today." he said, acting as if he didn't care.

When I came out of the bathroom, he was waiting for me. He grabbed my chin and forcefully planted a kiss on my lips.

I melted a bit as he pulled my very close. Something I had never done with Sara.


	6. A Losing Battle.

So once again, I found myself in a taxi heading to British Marine Aircraft. 

“Today, we're tricking that CEO into telling us what's going on,” Sherlock said during the ride.

“What makes you think he's the one that knows something?” I asked.

“He's the one rushing in and out of the crime scene. He's worried about us. About what we might find.”

We soon enough pulled up to the business.

“That is a bit suspicious I suppose,” I said, climbing out of the vehicle.

When we got to the door, there was a worker there to greet us. He looked shaken and stressed out. I immediately became worried.

“I'm glad you're here. There's something for you to see,” he said nervously.

“Is it another body?” Sherlock asked. 

“You'd better just come in and see,” the worker replied.

When we went inside, the place was empty. Something was wrong. I glanced over at Sherlock, who gave me a look letting me know he had similar feelings.

We were led to the test chambers. The worker opened a door for us and motioned for us to go inside. I looked at Sherlock again, who gave a small shrug and walked in. I followed. 

After we were inside, the worker stood outside, shut us in, and walked away. 

“Did we just walk right into a trap?” I whispered to Sherlock.

“I believe we did,” Sherlock answered, with a bit of a smirk. 

“I don't even have my gun!”

“Don't worry. I do.” he said, as he smirked wider.

“Damn it Sherlock, I can't believe this.”

“Come on John. You know me by now.”

Then a voice rang out, seemingly from nowhere.

“Are you boys sharing secrets now?”

Sherlock tilted his head.

“Moriarty?” he asked the voice.

“Yes, quite. Oh, it must be so much fun to be you two, whispering little secrets, going on adventures. Even sharing beds.”

Moriarty said the last three words with a distinct sneer in his voice. 

“You've been watching us,” Sherlock stated, reaching for the gun.

“Of course I have. What do you think, that I'd let you run about England all willy nilly, letting you do whatever you want?”

Sherlock pulled the gun, then shifted his eyes around, trying to figure out where Moriarty was.

“Why?” he asked, as he continued to look around.

“Well, I need to know the right time to kill you. Which isn't now. This is why it's so important you two stay out of this.”

“And what is this, exactly?” I called out, looking around as well.

“You can stop looking for me. I'm not really here. Do you really think I'd show up to a place like this and risk being seen by these people?” 

“What is this? What are you up to?” I shouted.

“Our favorite CEO has gotten involved with a group of revolutionaries, you see. However, he ended up not making good on a deal, and I showed up. But the warnings are over now. He's being taken care of as we speak.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Is that what this is all about? That CEO made a deal with some terrorists?” he said, annoyed.

“Well, they don't like to be called terrorists,” Moriarty answered.

“No, of course they don't,” Sherlock sighed, putting away the gun.

“You killed innocent people just to leave a message for some CEO?” I asked, as loudly as I could without yelling. 

“Yes. Well, I had other people kill them for me,” Moriarty said. “Now what was I saying? Oh yes – you two need to forget any of this ever happened, because I can't kill you just yet.” 

“We're not just going to forget about it. You're a murderer!” I yelled.

“But you kind of don't have a choice, do you? Everyone else has been paid off. The cops have been paid off. Even if you found someone to listen to you, I'd find some way to pay them off.”

“Bastard,” Sherlock muttered.

“I'd pay off you too, but one of you doesn't care about money and the other has a problem with self-righteousness.” 

“Just because I'm not a criminal like you doesn't mean...” 

I began to yell again, but Sherlock put his hand on my shoulder and shook his head.

“What, we're going to let him get away with this?” I said, exasperated.

“John, it's a losing battle.”

“But...” 

“There will be other battles.” 

“We're seriously going to walk away from this?”

“Yes. We're going to get in a cab and we're going to leave and go get breakfast.”

“But...”

“What are we going to do is tell the authorities a voice in the lab said he helped a terrorist group kill people.”

“We can explain who Moriarty is...”

“We've been beat John. We will fight another battle.”

“See you around, Jim,” Sherlock called out, as he started to walk out the door.

I just stood there, not believing this was happening. 

“I'd follow him if I were you, Doctor Watson.”

I huffed with anger.

“Come on John, we're getting breakfast,” Sherlock called from outside the room.

I stomped out of the lab.

“What the hell was that back there?” I demanded to know, as I tried to catch up to Sherlock. 

“That was not wasting our talents. That CEO was a criminal. No use trying to define him from other criminals.” 

“And innocent people died in the crossfire!”

“Yes, they did. And now that the CEO has been apprehended, this all will stop.”

When he reached the street he waved down a cab and we got in. 

“Let's just eat,” he said after we sat down.

I was shocked how calm he was, considering we had just encountered Moriarty. But right now, he didn't seem to want to talk about it. He was just interested in getting food. 

It wasn't long before we had pulled up to the cafe Sherlock wanted to eat at. We got out of the cab, sat down at a table outside and ordered coffee.

“You can breathe now, John. That is all over.”

I was about to make an angry retort, but realized I didn't actually care anymore. When I didn't respond, he looked me in the eye and gave me the most sincere look he has ever given me. Then, he spoke up softly.

“There are always going to be cases that take up our time and put us in danger, but in the end, when they're over and done with, we get to have each other.”

I blinked, realizing that was Sherlock being romantic. Sherlock honestly put effort into being romantic, in his own sort of way.

I would like to think I was the first person to experience this sentiment; however, having not gotten the whole story on the boy in school he was fond of, I couldn't be sure.

Soon, our coffee arrived, and Sherlock manged to change the subject to how dumb the terrorists must have been to think their deal would work out.

We laughed and joked at other people's expense. Then, at some point, I had laid my arm on the table and Sherlock reached out and put his hand on top of mine. Another romantic gesture I wasn't prepared for. 

It was fine. I wasn't self-concious about it. Well, not until I heard a certain voice coming from the street. 

“John?”

I turned my head to see Sara standing on the sidewalk. Her eyes flickered back and forth, between me and Sherlock's hand on top of mine.

“Hello, Sara” I said as I wonder if I should pull my hand away for Sherlock's. Then I figured it was useless because she had already seen it.

“Look at you two,” she said, followed by a silence where she just nodded her head for a bit “I can see why you haven't been in touch.”

“No, it's not...” I started to explain, but she cut me off.

“No, you don't have to try and explain.” 

“Really? Because I kind of feel like I should,” I replied uneasily.

“Actually John, I think this situation is pretty self explanatory,” Sherlock stated.

“I believe he's right,” agreed Sara.

“Well, at least let me apologize for lying on the phone to you.” 

“It's alright John. It's all alright,” she said. 

She started to turn around.

“I hope to see you again soon,” she called, as she began to walk away.

“Right. Me too,” I called back.

I just sat there and watched her walk away. 

God, what had I done? I had a woman. A perfectly lovely woman, and I'd thrown her out for Sherlock. A man who immediately tore down everything I ever suggested and laughed at other people's expense. 

I could have stopped her from walking away. I could have called out to her, but it was too late. She was gone.

Sherlock and I finished our breakfasts and chatted some more. We paid for our meals. I was still lost in thought about Sara.

We left the cafe and started walking down the sidewalk, in the direction of our home.

I felt regret come across me, like the tide washing over my feet, as Sherlock took my hand in his. 

“When we get home, we could have a nice cuddle on the couch,” he suggested as we walked.

“Yeah,” I answered, distractedly.

Sherlock smiled, a little lost in thought himself.

“Then later, we might even try having sex.”


End file.
